One Day In January
by Fic Fairy
Summary: An average day in the ED becomes distinctly unaverage when an Outlook alert pops up on Connie's computer.


The day began as so many have done in recent weeks. The alarm, set so precisely the night before to allow for normal morning pursuits like eating blueberry muffins and putting together quinoa salads for lunch (New Year, new start; no more overdosing on Pret sandwiches from the branch near work, ably collected and delivered by the department's keen to please new receptionist), went off at the required time, stirring J and I from our relative slumbers, causing us to look at each other, remember just how much we fancy each other, and jump each other's bones like a pair of horny teenagers once again. The end result being of course, that 15 minutes before our shifts are due to start we're jumping on to the bike, stomachs empty and the promise of the previously embargoed Pret Crayfish tail sandwich being the only thing standing between me and starvation.

But what the Hell, the sex made it all worthwhile. And shed calories. So all things relative right?

A speedy journey to work and a make out session in the car park later - I no longer have an ounce of shame; at least he's not a porter - I was, with seconds to spare, in my office. I dumped my helmet, shed my jacket and after popping a Taylor's pod in the Nespresso machine made my way to handover. Again, all was pretty typical for a weekday in January; a handful of jogging and gym injuries and several hospitality and catering workers in with alcohol poising after belated Christmas work dos. Fact, the Xmas party season starts in early November and doesn't end until February. Confident the team would cope, I excused myself to my office, retrieved my coffee and settled down to a pile of paperwork which had been accumulating since December 1st.

Naturally however, the lure of the daily excitement known as checking my emails beckoned and that was where an otherwise run of the mill day became somewhat more 'interesting'. If I tell you I said the last word whilst pulling an awkward somewhat disgusted face you'll be a little bit closer to understanding it's intended meaning in this case. The first thing that happened when I opened Outlook was the discovery of 112 unread emails; most of them, I swear, from the depressing giant Swede upstairs who has nothing better to do than make regular attempts at ruining my day. There was one from Grace which did fill me with a little more joy, but before I could read it, there was a shrill ringing noise and a calendar alert, bright red in colour, with a little sad face, popped onto my screen.

Ah. Deep joy.

I should explain. Generally I use my Outlook calendar like any normal person. I schedule meetings, conferences, evenings out.

In addition however, I also use it, and I do apologise in advance if this is too much information for your delicate ears, to keep an up to date and fully accurate schedule of my menstruation cycle. I am aware that this probably makes me the most anally retentive woman known to man, but what can I say? I work in emergency medicine, I don't have time for accidents. I can't find myself bent double in resus in the middle of performing a lifesaving procedure because I haven't thought ahead and taken naproxen in advance, and don't get me started on the perils of - squeamish men, look away now - coming on in pale blue scrubs. I like to be prepared and organised and ridiculous as it sounds, my Outlook calendar and it's irritating little alarms ensure that is always the case.

That said, slightly curiously, since usually my body works like clockwork, I currently felt little evidence that I was due a visit from the period fairy. My stomach - although desperately in need of a blueberry muffin - was settled, my breasts felt recently fondled but otherwise comfortable and as far as I could tell nothing seemed like it was going to change anytime soon.

I glanced back at the screen, wondering if I'd accidentally set a '24 hours warning' on my alert, and that was when it hit me.

I'd just had three days off. I was seeing the alarm 4 days late. Which meant...

I allowed my mind to shut off for a moment as bile rose in my throat and I found myself feeling glad for the first time that morning that I'd had sex instead of the blueberry muffin. Somehow concentrating on not vomiting in my waste bin seemed largely more attractive than dealing with the real issue at hand, and yet, hard as I tried to ignore it, the realisation was by this point fairly firmly lodged in my head.

My period was four days late.

Now you have to understand, I'm not just any woman, with any menstruation cycle. I'm Connie

Beauchamp, a bit like Mary Poppins; practically perfect in every way, and I can assure you that exactly the same went for my insides as for my perfectly coiffured hair, pearly white teeth and expertly managed figure. They do what they're meant to, when they're meant to do it. My period has _never_ been late. Ever.

Well, actually it has. Just the once.

You work it out.

On which note, it was at that second that I found myself glancing at the framed photo of Grace which sat on my desk. Usually, on an average day, it makes me smile. A thousand miles away she may be, but I'm still lucky enough to have her as a daughter, and our relationship is so much more harmonious these days.

Or at least it was.

I could just imagine how she'd react to this news. The news of the arrogant, belligerent, non appearing period. The news of my impending motherhood. The news of a new baby brother or sister. I could imagine her pissed off pout - stolen from me, I hasten to add - without even trying. The whole thing was going to be Hell on earth.

I got no further with the train of thought before Charlie crashed into my office, wanting to talk, not for the first time this century, about Cal. I contemplated asking him to come back later, but I swear that man can be psychic at times and I was deeply concerned he might realise I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and ask for details, and I just wasn't in a place where I was willing to give them, so instead I listened, nodded in all the right places, mumbled twice, smiled a wry smile once and then sent him on his way.

Glancing once again at the alert I tried, desperately, to calm myself. I didn't _know_ I was pregnant. I didn't feel pregnant. It hadn't even crossed my mind that morning. That thought reassured me a little, and I found myself looking for alternative reasons as to why my period was late. I'm not as young as I was, for starters, maybe, just maybe, it was the menopause.

I grimaced, not entirely convinced that the menopause was any more attractive as an explanation, not least taking into account my recently acquired significantly younger lover. Did I want to be menopausal?! I thought about it. Not particularly, and also, I knew deep down it was a little unlikely. The menopause, much like pregnancy, has symptoms. Hot flushes, mood swings; I've had neither, and it's unlikely that my innards would just pack up overnight, it's just not that simple.

So probably not the menopause then.

I took a deep breath, made myself another coffee and tried to pull myself together. I was getting hysterical and that wasn't going to help anyone, least of all me. I tried to think sensibly, sanely. Perhaps my period was just late. Unlikely given all I've said, but hey, it happens, and no one can be perfect all the time. Plus, it was only four days, not four weeks.

And maybe it would start today.

I sipped my coffee and tried to feel pre-menstrual. I pleaded with my breasts to feel achy, begged my stomach tense. Nothing. I asked myself, several times, if I was craving chocolate; my period vice of choice. I didn't think so but decided to pretend I was if only to make myself feel better. I grabbed my purse, left my office, made my way to the vending machine and emptied all my loose change into it.

I'd just pressed E6 (Cadburys Fruit and Nut) when I became aware of a strong arm snaking around me from behind, pulling me backwards up against a body I've come to know as well as my own, along with a warm breath on my neck followed up with a nuzzling kiss. An hour earlier such a greeting would have been a dream come true. An hour earlier I'd have been dragging him to my office for a repeat performance of what we'd done in my bed than morning. But it was an hour later, my world was in turmoil, and all I could focus on was the placement of his arm and the way his hand was caressing my stomach.

I pushed backward, jabbing him in the abs with my elbow.

"We're at work." I hissed with so much venom in my voice that I shocked myself, and couldn't bring myself to turn to see how he was responding to my words. I did however hear him chuckle, which somehow riled me even more than being hurt which was what I expected.

"We were at work in the car park, SweetCheeks. You weren't complaining then. What did you say again? At least I'm not a porter."

I jabbed him with my elbow a second time, and had a quick look round for Zoe, in no mood to deal with her wrath, "That was different. And it's Mrs Beauchamp." Even my heart sank at my final words, and I knew full well he wouldn't like them but I couldn't help it; they'd come flying out without warning. I felt like a complete bitch, but my life was spiralling out of control and for a woman like me there's no worse feeling in the world. I just can't handle it. The world plays by my rules, not the other way round.

I wriggled out of his embrace, an act which took little effort as I'd clearly stunned him into loosening his grip on me with my quite frankly abhorrent attitude, and after retrieving my chocolate walked back to my office without another word. In fact, I didn't even look back.

I couldn't cope with him at that moment. I had bigger things to deal with.


End file.
